


Flying Solo

by Elke Tanzer (elke_tanzer)



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Pegging, UST, Yuletide, Yuletide 2004
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-24
Updated: 2004-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-02 21:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elke_tanzer/pseuds/Elke%20Tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starbuck is an adventurous, intensely passionate character, and frankly, Vipers just look phallic. Set during the miniseries, when we see her in her bunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flying Solo

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Yuletide 2004. Part of me is thinking I should be embarrassed for writing something so porny for an absolute stranger in a holiday fanfiction exchange. Part of me is thinking I should acknowledge that I seem to be incapable of writing anything aside from porny stories in this fandom. And part of me is just Blaming Widget and isn't feeling odd about this story at all. Huge thanks to T, Apple Cameron, and Widget for beta reading.

Fucking is a lot like flying, or flying is a lot like fucking, I'm not sure which. I guess it doesn't really matter, one way or the other. I'd never lacked for ships, and I'd never lacked for bed partners. Problem is, just about nobody can keep up with me, either way.

The hotshot pilots usually act all tough but are pushovers in the rack. The nice guys everyone else's mothers told their daughters to go find are sometimes pleasantly surprising, but they're just not durable.

Luckily I'm not into monogamy.

Well, I was once. Not entirely my fault... Zak was special. Adventurous, but not as much as some. Energetic, but not as much as some. Trusting. Always trusting. And... not as durable, in the end. I kept tryin' to tell myself that he would always be as durable out of bed as he was in bed. My delusion got him killed, and I haven't met anyone remotely like him since. I don't care to, either. I might get 'em killed, too, so it's better I don't meet 'em, if they're anywhere out there.

Out there... gosh, there are a lot fewer people out there than there were before. I s'pose other people'd think it strange that I'm thinking about all of those dead worlds, all of those people wiped out, in the same mental breath as thinking about all my potential screws, but that's just the way I'm put together. There are all sorts of wonderful people that I'll never get to know now, no where no how, because all those worlds are gone. No time to mourn 'em, but time to mark them being gone, and then get about the business of living. For me, that's flying. And flying is a lot like fucking.

Which is why I'm lying here all buzzed and thrumming, sucking on a really good cigar, figuring out if my engine's ready to start cooling down or if it's still revvin', just getting warmed up.

Sometimes the wildness gets out of my system up there, out there, and other nights...

Well, other nights are like tonight. I lazily blow smoke, enjoying the way it clouds above me, rolling the cigar around in my hand like it was a lover's... yeah. I slip my other hand up to my neck, trailing my fingers possessively down the side of my own neck, catching nails on my collarbone, scratching down my chest, twirling around my nipple, grasping at my ribs, slipping beneath the waistband of my pants to find heat, wetness, almost steam. Oh, yeah. Felt like one long day, no matter how many hours had actually gone by, since I'd had my morning jog through our museum ship and we'd all had to face the end of the world. Mighty big day, mighty fast flying, mighty fine speed, mighty fine asskicking maneuvers, mighty fine... oh, yeah.

Might be nice to share this with someone, but I don't want to bother going to pick up somebody, and I don't have regular partners any more. Haven't in a few years. Might be nice to bring back a couple of new guys and just fuck 'em senseless, though. Play 'em against each other for who goes first, make one of them hold the other still while I take him, screw his brains out and leave him a steamed heap to watch as I tie the other down, find one of my trusty strap-ons and fuck him senseless. The one who has to watch the first always agrees to be tied down... man, there's just something funny about men. Women aren't like that. Women will cling to a headboard until they pass out, but they will keep their word to grab hold. Well, the women I fuck, anyway. The others aren't worth my time. I've always been a pretty good judge of character.

Well, except for Zak. I really thought he... I thought he... well, hotshot Thrace, you miscalculated him. He may have, too. Everybody in his whole fracking life miscalculated him. Nothing anyone can do about it now.

But _frack_ was he hot in bed. All the best qualities of the nice guys, plenty of unexpected surprises for me. Delicious inside me, and trusting enough to not just let me take him, but _enjoying it_. In trim shape and flexible. Really fun to force to bend. Near stubborn enough to be my equal in everything, relaxed enough to get off on my mischief, and not such a kiss-up to authority that he'd drive me nuts. And no matter what else we did, he got this tender look in his eyes and cuddled when I wanted that, and didn't force it on me the rest of the time. He wasn't a bad pilot, he just had no feel for flying. Given how much feel he had for fucking, I kept thinking he'd get that feel for flying soon enough...

I watch as the cigar's tip smolders, ash building up, smoke lazing in curling coils.

It'd been a long time after the funeral that I could even think about him. But I'm not like the Adama men... much as I trust the Commander's leadership, I'm not like them. I don't pretend like Zak's only a painful memory to be crushed down, never talked about, never thought about. I never understood how Zak himself crushed down the memory of his parents happy together, because I know they must have been, way back in the day. You got to keep hold of good memories, good moments. Life gives you few enough of them anyway, you might as well throw yourself into 'em as much as you can, right then, and then stash the really good ones as safe as you can for when you want to celebrate living. Then they're right there with you, no matter what else might be happening.

But I'd never sought out an equal since. Too close to me and I break 'em if I've misjudged 'em. And too many sturdy stubborn guys turn to mush when faced with all the me I am. For a while I'd thought Zak would be like that, didn't let him get too close, didn't let me get too close, but then... I'm pretty sure that closeness might have been a mistake looking back on it, but it had seemed so _right_ at the time, and I _always_ go with my intuition, flyin' by the seat of my pants... it hasn't gotten me killed yet...

My eyes slip closed, my hand busy below, the other clenching and unclenching my cigar. Breathing deeper now, a sudden puff of breath pushing coils of smoke into clouds, a scattering of hot ashes fluttering to sting my chest just a bit, hitting my skin like fiery rain. I could hear my own voice in my mind, see his face in front of me, beads of sweat glittering on his skin like stars, panting as I'd toyed with him, panting turning into a low keening moan as I kept the teasing going, driving him mad with his own desire... and then held solid still. Ready and lined up, all ready to go, dragging the moment out. He forced one shuddering breath in, then another, finally catching a moan about to get past his teeth and just gasping, his gaze casting about and then finally locking onto mine.

"That's it, Zak, just shut up and hold still." He managed one slight nod, letting one breath hiss out between his teeth before his jaw thrust just a bit forward, his mouth held open to keep his moans from sounding. Oh, I'd just barely entered him, his eyes widening and then closing, his head tipping back and the muscles in his neck standing out in the dim light...

"Oh, no, you don't get off that easy. Look at me. _Look_ at me. You know how wide this gets. You know how long this gets. You know how much you're going to take. You don't get to turn away now, man. _Look at me_."

An incoherent groan as he pulled himself back to me, struggling with the images my words are burning into his mind. I don't know if it was him or me, and it's stopped mattering.

I look him straight in the eye, the wicked smile I know must be there curling one side of my face, sizzling fire from deep in my soul coming right up to the surface, ready to singe most other partners to carbon, but not him. Never him. His gasps just bring us higher.

I take him in hand, knowing the callouses on my throttle hand are rough, knowing what they do to his cock, tight and harsh and friction hot.

I grin at him, pumping my hand up and down his shaft, just feeling the fire.

He knows me oh, so well.

I make longer strokes, tight to the point of almost pain, tip to base, flare to base, tightening at the base, opening just enough to cup the top of balls, spending more time there with each stroke, making sure he knows where I'm going.

He tilts his head just ever so slightly to one side, nearly wishing to look away but his soul answers mine, does not let his eyes look away. He breathes two words, low and almost, almost in fear. "Oh, no..."

My fingers leave his shaft, clutch around his balls, not so tight as to cause pain, but not letting them rise. Not letting anything come easy. Not letting him come easy.

I cry out, triumph incoherent predatory joy, push into him. Bless the Lords of Kobol for good lube and willing men. One solid push, and I'm slid home into him. He takes it. He takes me. Leading with his chin he nearly, nearly shakes out a no, nearly echoing his words, nearly denying his part in this. Lesser men, lesser partners, wouldn't have ever gotten into this situation with me. I wouldn't have let them, they wouldn't have let me. They'd have passed out after the first few screws, come too fast too few times. Not Zak. No, he'd take me, and he'd get off on me, just for being me.

Frack, I miss him.

My hand slides easily between hot folds, rhythm building, pushing, pinching, faster and deeper, rough callous grinding across clit, breathing deep.

Too deep. Too fast. Need my cigar. Need to take in that sweet smokey taste deep, deep, as fingers keep pace below. Tension between breathing slower in the smoke, hand demanding faster below...

He took me. I took his quivers, his shudders, his arch into the resistance of one hand at _just_ the right place, cock deep into him, and he loved it. Lost himself in it. Lost himself in me.

I take my cigar in my teeth, freeing that hand to scratch and grab its way down my chest, hungry, hungry, seeking new skin to claim.

My breath catches, lungs burn for more air and I don't relent. Pushing harder, faster, deeper, thumb grasping slick clit against base of index finger, palm, as other fingers thrust inside, heat cresting in a wave, second hand finding heat to hunger to, thrumming quick and sudden against lips and clit, first hand sliding in, pressing rough against smooth heat...

Oh, _frack_ yeah.

When everything else falls away, when the moment consumes you and you consume it, when your own fire claims itself and everything, _that's_ what it's all about. When you're what it's all about. When you're the most amazing you'll ever be, and it's _this fracking good_.

Back arching, breath forced past cigar and teeth still careful not to bite it through, tongue swiping circles across teeth and gums and smokey cylinder and teeth again, fast and not even conscious any more, eyes rolling back and every piece reaching, seeking as one with everything...

_YEAH_...

The crest of it takes me, takes all of me, and I shudder long moments with it, catching the crest and riding it as it crashes through me again and again.

Oh, _yeah_...

Shivers of orgasm chase each other across my skin, across a muscle here, a muscle there. Tension requited and sated calling for relaxation, for langorous savoring of the moment.

I untangle one hand from my hair below and take a nice long puff on my cigar. My scent mingles with the smoke. Nice. I roll the cigar between my fingers, other hand still below, petting. Letting the engine cool a bit before setting it back to idle.

My eyes start to drift closed, but I'm not sleeping yet. Gonna finish the last of this cigar, nice and slow. Mmmm.

Yeah, flying is a lot like fucking, and fucking is a lot like flying. What a day.

What a...

My eyes snapped open.

"Shut up and hold still..."

Two men's faces superimposed in my mind's eye. One so close that if I'd wanted to count those beads of sweat, I could have, and yet so, so very far away. The other out of my reach, separated by Vipers' hulls and helmet screens and debris-cluttered space, against a backdrop of innumerable stars. Two heads tilted, and almost, almost shook a denial. One voice a gasping, panting breath, and the other a crackle in my ear, low and almost, almost in fear, "oh, no..." and yet eyes did not look away.

One strong push, Viper's hulls scraping as they slid home, as I took him, and he didn't look away.

Oh, _frack_.


End file.
